The Hollow Tree

The Hollow Tree
A shadow in my dreams, since I was a boy, haunting me with tales of trolls , and witches, goblin kings, ghosts, and tiny, hidden thieves trying to steal the fingers of little boys who dare to place a hand in

The Hollow Tree
Bewitches me, for all these years, I have written of her, painted her, even made sculptures of clay, towering to my studio ceiling; meticulous in every detail, gnarled, ancient, complete with terrifying hole of

The Hollow Tree
I placed my hand inside the sculpture, and nothing happened. I placed my head inside the sculpture and nothing happened. So I climbed inside the sculpture, and all I could see was clay. And all I could smell was clay. And all I could feel was nothing; nothing but a hole, empty as

The Hollow Tree
Now standing before me. It's in a wood, near my studio, near my house. Nothing really, but a very old, very tired oak tree. With a hole. A hole in the trunk. Look...

The Hollow Tree
And here is the talisman I carved on it when I was ten. And here is the poem I wrote on it's bark skin. Look...

The Hollow Tree
Doesn't allow visitors. Don't put your fingers in. Don't put your head through. The Hollow Tree watches you,

The Hollow Tree
Knows you. John Marshall disappeared here, in this wood ten years ago, and since then parents haven't allowed their kids to play here anymore. So this warning I left, I guess, only applies to me. Guess what I want to do this morning?Guess. Yes, after all these years I need to find out, I need to know, I need to climb through, into

The Hollow Tree
Is my destiny. I look in, my whole body tense, skin prickling with fear, and yes, excitement, and more; expectation. I take a deep breath.

The Hollow Tree
Smells like ancient forest, smells like the past, smells strangely familiar, hopelessly lost, in time I manage to sneak a finger into the hollowing. Nothing happens.

The Hollow Tree
Looks down at me, whimsically; it's branches swaying in a northerly breeze threatening winter. Ignoring me. So, I carefully, dangerously put my hand in. Nothing happens.

The Hollow Tree
Moans as the wind blows suddenly harder. Small twigs fall around me. I leave my hand in, but still, nothing happens. So, after five minutes of me groping around in the darkness of the hollowing, touching nothing, feeling nothing, I tentatively lean my head forward. Will I? Can I? Be brave enough to do this?

The Hollow Tree
Swallows men whole, my daddy told me. Don't ever put your head in.

The Hollow Tree
Feeds on boys like you and me, my brother told me. And I believed him.

The Hollow Tree
Has always been a part of my life, and now I must see. I must finally make peace with her, and see just what is inside, touch her heart, let her be a part of me. Two hands either side of the hollowing, my foot resting on the lip of

The Hollow Tree
Is willing me to come. I know I must do this. Now. I must climb in. So I take a deep breath, have one last look around me, and heave myself through, suddenly within

The Hollow Tree
Is......
I can see symbols in front of me, no, wait, they are words, no wait....
They are VERSE
I can see this poem, clearly. Right in front of me. My head is bowed, and yes, I am reading my own words,
THESE WORDS
But I am not me, no. I am YOU!
And through your eyes I can glimpse a world dark, and beautiful, an endless void of life, contained within a hole, within a tree, within a wood, never far from me, never far from you;

The Hollow Tree.